


Silverhawke

by radiofreekerberos



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Ladyhawke Fusion, Assassin Keith (Voltron), Cursed Keith (Voltron), Cursed Shiro (Voltron), Emperor Lotor (Voltron), Friar Hunk (Voltron), Galra Keith (Voltron), Keith (Voltron) Whump, Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Page Pidge Voltron, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Whump, Thief Lance (Voltron), Whump Fic, Witch Curses, Witch Honerva (Voltron), sheith ladyhawke au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiofreekerberos/pseuds/radiofreekerberos
Summary: A piercing screech splits the air and the knight raises his black gloved hand. Broad silver wings beat the air as the hawk perches on his balled fist amid a flurry of indignant chirps. “Youtake it easy as well,” he murmurs softly, gently stroking the agitated creature’s white chest plumage with his bare hand.Or, the one where a young thief unwittingly becomes entangled in the lives of a disgraced knight and a royal assassin, suffering from the cruel effects of a witch's curse.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FroldGapp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/gifts).



> This one's for my lovely partner in crime Froldgapp. Hope you like it :)

It’s cold and wet. The rain is coming down in icy sheets and Lance shivers inside his tattered cloak. He tries not to think about the grimy mud clinging to his clothing like a second skin, or the way it’s sticking in the most uncomfortable places, as he searches for a hiding place amongst the crowded market stalls. 

He glances over his shoulder, spying another grim member of the Day Watch, and quickly joins a small crowd of merchants haggling over the price of grain in front of one of the stalls. He breathes a small sigh of relief when the Watchman passes without noticing him. He hates to admit this, but it’s entirely possible he may have chosen the wrong pocket to pick. 

The small pouch of gold coins he liberated from that loudmouth Baron Varkon is a comforting weight against his chest. It sits nestled in the hidden pocket sewn into the lining of his linen tunic. But the pudgy lout obviously had more status than Lance initially thought, if the number of Watchmen currently combing the square looking for him is any indication. 

He’d raised enough of a ruckus to wake the dead. Of course he had, and the Watch had naturally come rushing to the aid of someone wealthy enough to make it worth their while. But where were they when the farm that had been in Lance’s family for generations was burned to the ground by bandits? Off drinking in some tavern no doubt. 

Ever since, it’s fallen to Lance to take care of his mother and younger siblings, but honest work is getting harder to come by thanks to the occupation. Lance has had to travel far from the tiny hovel his family now calls home. The Emperor’s proclamations have stripped every citizen of their holdings and made them the property of the Empire. Legitimate wages have practically dried up; so if Lance has had to resort to alternative methods of paying his mother’s rent, well that’s hardly his fault is it.

Relieving this particular entitled clod of his coin _had_ been foolish though, and yet Lance stubbornly decides he’d do it again just to see the same stupid look on Varkon’s stupid face. The purse is well hidden, but a brisk search at the point of a sword will reveal it quickly enough should he be caught. It wouldn't do him or his family any good if he ends up in the stocks.

He drops to his knees and quickly ducks beneath the awning of the nearest fruit stall, hiding in the shadows as a small knot of severe looking Watchmen troops past.

“Where’d you come from?” A middle-aged woman with a round face as red as her hair cries in exasperation. “Be off with you, rascal!” She pauses in her rapid stacking of fruit to kick at him in an attempt to get him to vacate the premises.

Lance recoils from her determined blows, “Ow! Stop! I mean no harm!” he insists throwing his arms up in surrender. “I was just seeking shelter from the rain. Surely a kind woman such as yourself wouldn't deny a weary traveler a moment’s respite.” He summons the most ingratiating smile he can, cocking his eyebrows in that way his mother says is most charming. 

“Seek it somewhere else,” the woman says flatly, clearly not buying it. She scowls at him as her well-worn boot erupts in a second flurry of determined kicks.

“Ow!” Lance grunts. “Quit it!” His eyes shift to the determined knot of armed watchmen turning back to investigate the commotion. That’s just perfect. “Shit!” he mutters, ignoring the outraged blush blooming across the startled woman’s cheeks.

Oh well, in for a penny. Lance winks at her and plucks an apple from the nearest fruit basket as her eyes go wide with shock. He wedges it between his teeth with a jaunty arch of his eyebrows, then tumbles back out into the mud soaked square.

“Impudent scoundrel!” She shouts after him as he flees into the muddy lane thick with water filled trenches from the laden wagons traversing it. “Thief! Thief!”

As if conjured by the woman’s magic words, a small mob of burly Watchmen suddenly materializes directly ahead of him, blocking his escape. Lance takes a quick bite from his purloined apple and sidesteps them, plunging headlong into the dense woods surrounding the muddy lane. 

He half-runs, half-slides down a steep embankment slick with loamy mulch and thick black mud, half a dozen shouting members of the Watch hot on his heels. Lance is faster though. He quickly out-distances them. 

He races out past the edge of the tree line onto a low embankment composed of upturned earth and uprooted trees. A small stream babbles below it. Lance leaps over it and lands sure footed in the clearing beyond, his clean getaway only spoiled by the fact that he lands directly in the path of the great black charger that’s currently sprinting across the meadow.

He cringes and falls backwards into the sucking mud as the giant black horse rears up on its hind legs. Its huge front hoofs paw at the air inches from his face and Lance flinches and tries to pull himself free of the slimy mud only to end up falling backwards again when a great silver hawk appears out of nowhere and dives at his head with an angry shriek. 

Lance lays there slowly sinking into the freezing mud and watches it soar through the trees. It climbs up into the open gray sky on powerful silver wings, its bright scarlet tail feathers spreading out like a banner as it goes.

“Woah, easy Lion, take it easy,” a deep voice soothes softly, drawing Lance’s gaze back to the impressive charger, its sleek black hide covered in intricate leather armor. “Easy, now,” the horse finally quiets, pawing restlessly at the soggy ground under the quiet ministrations of its master.

He’s a Knight. The first one Lance has ever seen on this isolated backwater. Tall and broad shouldered and imposingly muscled. Like his beast, he’s clad almost entirely in intricately tooled black leather armor, though his head remains uncovered. His hair is short, shaved close to his scalp, and black, save for the white forelock brushing his brow. There’s an angry red scar cutting a swath across the bridge of his nose. A single black leather gauntlet covers his right hand. His left is bare, though a network of faded white scars covers his forearm and the back of his hand like a violent map.

A piercing screech splits the air and the Knight raises his black gloved hand. Broad silver wings beat the air as the hawk perches on his balled fist amid a flurry of indignant chirps. “ _You_ take it easy as well,” the Knight murmurs softly, gently stroking the agitated creature’s white chest plumage with his bare hand. “You’ve robbed me of my dinner,” the Knight says then, his dark eyes shifting to regard Lance with a side-eyed glare.

“Sir?” Lance says, the very picture of innocence as he climbs to his feet and futilely attempts to wipe the cloying mud from his drenched clothing. He casts a furtive eye into the trees, mindful of how little time he has until the Watch catches up to him.

“I’ve been tracking that stag all afternoon,” the Knight says mildly, though the severity of his expression belies his tone. “We’d have eaten for a week off the meat from that.”

“My apologies sir,” Lance says contritely, though he isn't sure what the Knight means by _we_. “I was only-”

“Hoping to make a clean getaway?” The Knight asks, one eyebrow cocked wryly. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, for both of us,” he says, scowling into the woods just as a severe looking member of the Watch emerges, crossbow raised.

“Thank you sir for your assistance in apprehending this scoundrel,” she says warily, “but the Watch can take it from here.”

Lance swallows and looks around as more members of the Watch cautiously emerge from the trees, standing on the embankment just above his head, ten or fifteen men strong. The majority are leveling their weapons at his head, though a few including the one who spoke have their crossbows aimed at the Knight instead. Lance thinks it may have something to do with the long dusky sword which has somehow materialized in his bare hand.

“Just out of curiosity,” he idly asks, “what’s he done?”

“He’s a cutpurse and a vagrant,” one of the other Watchmen growls, a short stocky blonde with a wide barrel-shaped chest, “now, step aside.”

“Sir!” Lance protests strongly, though the hawk now perched on the pommel of the Knight’s saddle has him pinned with a particularly suspicious glare. He licks his lips, guessing that appealing to the Knight’s sense of chivalry is the best option he has. “I’m not a vagrant. I’ve never intentionally loitered on private land, and as for thieving, I’ve never stolen a thing from anyone who had genuine need of it.”

The Knight’s mouth quirks slightly at that. “Well, there you have it,” he says, absently shifting his grip on the hilt of his sword, which makes the substantial muscles in his arm ripple impressively. “It would seem you’ve been following the wrong man,” he says, casually eyeing the Watchman who first spoke to him. She frowns and tilts her head at the barrel-chested fellow. He immediately breaks off from the rest of the group and rushes towards Lance. 

Lance tenses and glances helplessly at the Knight, but he’s just sitting there watching the scene unfold as if curious to see how it all plays out. The barrel-chested Watchman draws his sword and puts it to Lance’s throat as he briskly searches him. He smells of pickled eggs and sour beer. Lance wrinkles his nose and gingerly turns his head. The Watchman presses one ham-sized hand to his chest. He cringes when the telltale clink of coin gives him away. 

The Watchman smirks and rips a gash into the collar of Lance’s tunic, exposing the hidden pocket inside. Lance bites his tongue. His mother made him that tunic. The Watchman plucks the concealed coin purse free, then contemptuously pushes him back down into the freezing mud.

“And how did you come by this?” the Watchman demands. “Eh? Urchin? Speak before I cut out your tongue!”

“Oh that,” Lance says casually, glancing up at the Knight silently regarding him with one eyebrow raised. “I saw it slip from my lord’s belt at the market. I was trying to return it to him when the Watch started chasing me for some reason.”

Several members of the Watch snicker at that and Lance grins, emboldened by their good humor. “Not that I blame you for getting the wrong end of the stick,” he says, the very model of gracious understanding. He pulls himself out of the cloying mud and tries to flick it from his fingers. A thick wet blob flies from his hand and lands squarely in the center of the fuming Watchman’s tunic. Lance’s grin falters somewhat. “In fact if you returned to the square right now, I’m sure you’d find the true culprit in no time,” he says encouragingly.

The Watchman’s eyes narrow to beady slits. “And this?” He cries, grabbing Lance by the arm and plucking the small iron blade from the pouch on his belt, the one he uses for skinning small game, oh and thievery. “How do you account for this eh? This purse didn’t just _slip_ from Baron Varkon’s belt. The strings were cut by a blade very much like this one,” the Watchman says suspiciously. 

The Knight tilts his head, and Lance swallows, the gears inside his head spinning ever more elaborate lies as he struggles to free himself from the Watchman’s surprisingly strong grip. “I’d wager you’d find a similar blade in the pocket of anyone attending the market,” he grunts. “It’s a basic tool amongst the common folk. Anyone might’ve used theirs to cut those strings.”

“That silver tongue may charm the wenches boy, but I’ve had just about enough of your trickery,” the Watchman snarls, grabbing Lance by the scruff of the neck and forcing him onto his knees in the squelching mud. “You’re a liar and a thief and honey covered words won’t save you from your punishment.” The point of his sword bites into the flesh at Lance’s throat, and Lance gasps as his entire short, and frankly disappointing, life flashes before his eyes. 

“That’s enough,” the Knight says softly and Lance startles, not quite allowing himself to hope for a last minute reprieve as every Watchman’s attention shifts to the Knight’s scarred face. “The boy makes a good point, anyone could’ve taken the purse,” he continues mildly, though his dark eyes are flashing like shards of flint. “You’ve recovered Baron Varkon’s property. I suggest you take it and leave him in peace.”

“W...what?” the barrel-chested Watchman sputters indignantly. “You expect us to just…”

“You know that’s not the way this works… sir,” his commanding officer intervenes, the one with the crossbow leveled at the black Knight’s head. “The Emperor doesn't require proof that a crime has been committed, suspicion alone is enough to determine guilt.”

“Well that’s convenient,” the Knight says flatly. “Perhaps if the Emperor was more concerned with feeding his subjects rather than finding reasons for punishing them, they wouldn’t have to resort to thievery to survive.”

Subjects ha! That’s an interesting spin on conquered and enslaved by the Galra Empire, Lance thinks sullenly. None of these Watchmen seems to realize that they’re nothing but cogs in a much larger machine. Even tiny backwaters like Aquila, with no technology or resources to speak of, aren’t beyond Lord Zarkon’s long reach. He’ll suck this planet dry just like all the others, then sell off it citizens to the crystal mines as cheap labor. Lance’s only regret is that he won’t be alive to see the looks on the Watchs’ faces when it happens to them. 

“Mind yourself Shirogane,” a new voice interjects, harsh and cutting, like gravel over glass, “unless you intend to add treason to your long list of crimes.”

The Knight, Shirogane, tenses in the saddle, his jaw clenching and his knuckles going white around the hilt of his sword. The hawk shrieks in agitation, its feathers bristling as Shirogane’s eyes narrow and a huge Galra soldier emerges from the trees. 

Lance’s eyes practically bug out of his head. It’s a day of firsts for him. Aquila is such an insignificant piece in the puzzle of the Empire that most of the aristocrats occupying the planet are from the lower ranked noble houses, distant relations to the royal family at best, but this soldier is a high ranking commander in the Imperial Guard judging by the insignia adorning his uniform, and most likely a trusted officer of the royal inner circle.

“Sendak,” Shirogane practically spits. “I thought I smelled something foul.”

Sendak smiles, his vacant yellow eyes glowing with an unnerving inner light. The right one is a formidable looking prosthetic like his left arm. Lance swallows and ducks his head, finding the tremendous Galra almost too intimidating to even look at.

“Sensitive nose,” Sendak rumbles, his smile twisting into a sneer, “must be the _beast_ in you.”

Shirogane’s face darkens with barely contained rage and for a moment Lance thinks he might physically attack the much larger Galra, but he just smiles instead. “Maybe you just reek,” he says faux pleasantly.

Sendak snorts, a single harsh bark of laughter. “I see the hawk still follows you like a shadow during the day,” he says. “He always was devoted to you. Tell me, when the wolf roams at night, does he lay with it as well?”

“Fuck you,” Shirogane growls.

Lance pulls a face. He has no idea what they’re even talking about right now. 

Sendak bares his fangs in an ugly smile. “Congratulations Captain,” he says to the confused Watch Commander standing at his side, though his enigmatic eyes never leave Shirogane’s grim face. “You’ve captured a known enemy of the Galra Empire. You and your men will be handsomely rewarded for bringing a dangerous murderer to justice.”

“So I’m a murderer now,” Shirogane says mildly, as the Watch all but forgets about Lance in their haste to level their crossbows at him instead. The hawk screams and the great black horse shifts and restlessly paws at the ground, but Shirogane remains eerily calm despite his precarious situation. For some reason, it sends a shiver down Lance’s spine. “Just so I know, who exactly am I supposed to have murdered?”

“Why, the Emperor’s beloved nephew of course,” Sendak says smugly.

“Of course,” Shirogane says with a resigned sigh. His bare fingers absently stroke the hawk’s bristling chest plumage in an effort to calm it. 

Lance takes the opportunity to slowly climb to his feet as unobtrusively as possible. Now’s his chance. He can slip away while the Watch’s attention is focused elsewhere. He turns, and somehow finds himself rooted to the spot. Shirogane could’ve easily left him to his fate and yet he chose to stay and speak in Lance’s defense, though it meant risking his own life. Are those the actions of a murderer? Lance is willing to bet they aren’t.

He forces himself to stay put, though there’s so much adrenaline coursing through his body at the moment, it’s hard to keep still. Is this what having a conscience feels like he wonders? Because it sucks.

“Did you really think you could avoid your punishment by hiding out on this worthless mudball of a planet?” Sendak scoffs. 

“It crossed my mind,” Shirogane shrugs. 

“Perhaps you aren’t aware of the Emperor’s recent illness,” Sendak rumbles. 

“Oh, what a shame,” Shirogane says dryly. “I’ll be sure to send him a card.”

“Prince Lotor has assumed the throne,” Sendak continues, ignoring the sarcasm. 

Shirogane’s jaw clenches. “Seized it, you mean,” he mutters.

“He’s less inclined to allow your crimes to go unpunished. There’s a price on your head Shirogane, one I intend to collect. Oh and you needn’t worry about your companion,” Sendak says, his artificial arm beginning to glow with an intense violet light. “Lotor plans to make a pet of him after you’re gone. He’ll live out the rest of his miserable half-life chained to a golden perch feasting on vermin, just like the animal he’ll always be.”

“Over my dead body,” Shirogane growls, his dark eyes flashing as all pretense of civility goes out the window. 

“If you insist,” Sendak says. He reaches over his left shoulder with his flesh and blood hand and slowly withdraws the longest broadsword Lance has ever seen. “I don’t usually go in for such primitive weapons,” he says with a shrug, “but, what is it that you humans say? When in Rome?”

“Go,” Shirogane murmurs grimly and the hawk takes to the air with an indignant squawk, dive-bombing Sendak’s head and raking him with its talons before climbing into the sky. 

Sendak curses, momentarily distracted, and Shirogane seizes the opportunity to launch himself at the muttering Galra. The Watch scatters as the two men converge, sparks flying from the clash of their heavy swords.

Lance flinches. His first instinct is to find the nearest bush and dive under it, but he turns to find the barrel-chested Watchman muttering something about ‘rewards’ and ‘status,’ as he carefully levels his crossbow at Shirogane’s head. Lance grits his teeth and slams into him, forcing his arms up and sending the cross-bolt shooting wildly into the air. 

There’s a sharp screech, and Lance looks up just in time to see the circling hawk falling out of the sky with the cross-bolt buried deep in its chest. 

“No!” Shirogane gasps, his face draining of color. 

Sendak is suddenly looming over the hapless Watchman, faster than Shirogane can react. Lance had almost forgotten how fast Galra are, even lumbering ones like Sendak. “Idiot!” he cries, “Lotor wanted the bird alive!” 

The crossbow slips from the Watchman’s trembling fingers as Sendak descends on him. He grabs Lance and tries to turn him into a human shield. “Coward,” Sendak sneers, moments away from impaling them both on his broadsword. 

Lance closes his eyes and wonders how his family will survive without him, but the killing blow never comes. He risks a quick peek to find Shirogane physically restraining the furious Galra with his armor clad arm. It’s glowing violet with barely contained power. “Run,” he grunts. 

No one has to tell Lance twice. He runs into the woods just as fast as his mud-caked feet will carry him, and dives behind a granite outcropping. Most of the Watch have already fled, deciding that the risk to their lives outweighs any benefit to their pocketbooks. 

For some reason Lance stays, though he can do little more than duck and cover and listen to the abrasive sound of swords clashing and Watchmen screaming. Eventually things turn quiet and he risks a quick look over the outcropping. 

Shirogane stands agitated and panting at the edge of the clearing, his right arm still glowing with intense violet heat. All around him lay the scattered bodies of those stupid enough to raise a weapon against him, including Sendak. Lance swallows and slowly approaches him, hands half-raised in surrender. 

“That was…” he falters, almost afraid to acknowledge the grim scene around him, but there are no fatal blows that he can see, no gushing wounds welling with blood. As far as Lance can tell, the few Watchman who decided to stand their ground are still breathing. Sendak is as well, though there’s a nasty looking gash in his forehead. “How did you…”

“Did you see where he fell?” Shirogane demands, rushing towards Lance and gripping him by the shoulders. There’s a wild look in his eyes, a feral intensity that makes Lance’s mouth go dry. He swallows and cringes in the Knight’s vice-like grip, counting himself lucky that he switched his arm off before grabbing him. “The hawk!” Shirogane clarifies, when Lance’s brow knits in confusion.

“Uh,” Lance says, trying to call to mind the hawk’s last position and angle of descent. “I think so,” he says finally. What he fails to mention is that the creature is likely already dead. It’s a shame, and the Knight seems oddly attached, but Lance considers it a stroke of luck that the bird was their only casualty. He decides not to mention that either.

Shirogane whistles, and the great black horse appears. He hops into the saddle and extends his flesh and blood hand to Lance. “Show me,” he says. 

Lance doesn’t really feel like he’s in a position to refuse. He swallows and allows Shirogane to lift him into the saddle in front of him. “That way,” he points, as they plunge further into the dense wood.

It takes them over an hour to find the wounded creature and it’s only thanks to Shirogane’s sharp hearing. Somehow he’s able to locate the feeble chirps coming from the layers of dead leaves coating the forest floor. 

“God,” he breathes, slipping from the saddle and cautiously approaching the frightened hawk. Lance jumps down after him. “It’s okay,” Shirogane soothes, slowly inching his way towards the injured bird trying desperately to scrabble away from him even though there’s a cross-bolt impaling its chest and one of its wings is clearly incapacitated. “Take it easy. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

As soon as he lays a flesh and blood hand on the agitated creature, it grows noticeably calmer and he’s able to pick it up, carefully cradling it in his arms as if it were the most precious thing in the world to him.

“We should put it out of its misery,” Lance says softly. Shirogane’s dark eyes flash and before Lance knows what’s happening, he finds himself lifted off his feet with Shirogane’s artificial hand wrapped around his throat. “Please sir,” he croaks, scrabbling at the Knight’s iron-like hand, “I understand you care for the creature, but it’s dying. I only meant that it would be cruel to prolong its suffering.”

“If he dies, _you_ die,” Shirogane snarls. He falters suddenly, his face paling as cold sweat springs out all over his skin. He releases Lance and groans, clutching his chest.

Lance swallows and rubs his neck. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Shirogane grunts through gritted teeth. He looks down at the injured bird cradled in his arm then up at the sky. The rain stopped some time ago and the sun is a white spot behind the thinning clouds hanging just above the horizon. “Take him,” he tells Lance, carefully depositing the feebly warbling hawk in Lance’s arms. It has violet eyes Lance notices with a start. Did it _always_ have violet eyes?

“There’s a monastery five miles north of here,” Shirogane says, adjusting the stirrups on the black charger’s saddle. “Take the hawk there. Tell the monk who answers that I sent you.” He fumbles inside one of the saddlebags for a moment. “Lion knows the way,” he says, withdrawing a piece of parchment and scribbling a quick note on it with a charcoal pencil. “Give her her head and she’ll take you there.” He folds the note and stuffs it inside the torn pocket inside Lance’s tunic. “Give that to him when he wakes up.”

“Who?” Lance sputters. “Wait, what? Why can’t _you_ take him?”

“You’re smaller and lighter than I am,” Shirogane says, heaving him up onto Lion’s back. “I won’t make it before nightfall, but you will.”

“Nightfall?” Lance stammers, perplexed, “what’s… Wait, so you’re just gonna lurk around in the woods until Sendak tracks you down again?”

Shirogane pulls a face. “I’ll be along soon enough,” he says flatly. He glances at the quivering hawk in Lance’s arms and closes his eyes as if fighting off a headache. “What was your name again?” he asks.

“Lance.”

“Take care of him,” Shirogane says, “and Lance,” he says, grabbing a fistful of Lance’s tunic in his flesh and blood hand and pulling him down so that their faces are inches apart, “if you even _think_ about abandoning him, I will hunt you down and rip out your throat with my teeth.”

Okay that’s… terrifyingly specific. “Got it,” Lance says numbly.

“Now go!” Shirogane snaps, slapping the big black mare’s flank and sending him on his way.

Lance risks a look back over his shoulder as they rush through the trees in time to see Shirogane drop to his knees and start removing his armor piece by piece. He frowns and tangles his free hand more tightly in the galloping horse’s mane. He isn’t so much riding her as holding on for dear life as she flies through the dense forest, kicking up cold clods of mud and practically brushing the closely packed trees with her muscular flanks.

Lance closes his eyes and crouches against her back while trying to keep the fading hawk from being jostled around too much by the bumpy ride. Lance has gotten himself tangled up in something dangerous. That much is clear, though little else is at this point. It goes against all his baser survival instincts to blindly follow the Knight’s instructions, but he won’t run, at least not yet. Not because Shirogane threatened him, but because he owes the man a debt for saving his life… twice.

The ground becomes steadily steeper and the trees thin out and Lance looks up to find a small stone monastery nestled against a granite shelf at the edge of the forest. The clouds have mostly dissipated just in time for sunset. Lance admires the pastel-colored skies above the sinking sun half-hidden beneath the horizon, as the big black mare passes through the open gate and enters the slightly crumbling courtyard.

Lance carefully climbs down from the snorting horse, mindful of the squirming hawk cradled against his chest. Its powerful claws caught him more than once on the journey over. 

Her task complete, Lion starts idly grazing on the tufts of grass growing between the cobblestones lining the courtyard as Lance approaches the ornately carved door.

He rings the bell hanging in the doorway from a rough length of weatherbeaten rope. There’s no answer. Twilight falls over the courtyard and the hawk grows suddenly more agitated, its feeble squawks becoming urgent screeches as it writhes in Lance’s arms. 

“Shit, calm down you dumb bird,” Lance grumbles, gritting his teeth. He does his best to keep hold of the wounded creature and keep it from hurting itself further. “I’m trying to help you!”

He rings the bell again and a small panel slides open in front of him. “Whaaat?” a voice, gravelly with sleep demands. Two bloodshot brown eyes regard Lance with suspicion from behind the open panel. 

“Uh,” Lance says, distracted by the hawk’s flailing claws, “Sh… Shirogane sent me.”

The eyes behind the panel go wide, and Lance can hear a lock disengaging before the door suddenly flies open to reveal a young friar standing in the doorway. 

He’s big, nearly as tall as Shirogane and maybe twice as wide, dressed in the traditional brown robes of his order, though instead of shaving his head, his dark hair is long and bound by a leather headband. He blanches at the sight of the injured hawk cradled in Lance’s arms.

“Give him to me,” he says, anxiously worrying his bottom lip. 

Lance gladly transfers the convulsing hawk into the friar’s waiting arms, finding himself with a fistful of detached feathers for his trouble. “Ugh,” he grumbles, hastily dropping the gummy feathers and wiping his hands on his soggy tunic.

“There are stables around back,” the friar says. “Come back once you’ve seen to the horse. I may need your help.” With that, he disappears back into the shadows of the monastery, shutting the door behind him.

Help with what, Lance wonders, pulling a face. He sighs and returns to Lion, still happily munching grass in the courtyard. He grabs the reigns and gently leads her around the crumbling remains of a well and down the side path he assumes leads to the stables. 

A light goes on in a second floor window as he passes the south side of the monastery. He can hear the hawk’s distressed cries coming from inside. 

“Stupid bird,” he mutters. 

This is crazy. He never asked for any of this. He’s done everything that Shirogane demanded of him. Surely that discharges his debt to the man. He got the hawk here in one piece. He’ll see to the horse’s needs and then he’ll go. He doesn’t need to get tangled up in other people’s problems. He’s got more than enough of his own. He’s not going to let a little thing like not actually having anywhere to go, stop him. 

“Damn it,” he mutters, leading the horse into the dilapidated, yet surprisingly tidy, stable. 

He lights a lantern and hangs it in the doorway, then he removes Lion’s armor and the saddle from her back. He eyes the saddlebags for a moment, wondering if there might be some coin inside. Stealing from the taciturn Knight is a risky proposition at best, but perhaps he wouldn’t be adverse to Lance helping himself to a coin or two for his trouble. 

He opens one of the bags. No coin, but he does find a change of clothes that are oddly too small for Shirogane to wear, a leather-bound book containing maps and sketches of places Lance has never heard of before, he thinks they may be locations from other planets, and a double-edged knife with a glowing Galra symbol on the hilt. 

Someone screams and Lance startles. He moves into the doorway and looks up at the flickering light coming from the tiny monastery window. It’s not the hawk. Those are the screams of a human being. A human being in pain. Goosebumps erupt all over Lance’s skin as Lion paws uneasily at the ground and knickers softly in the growing darkness. 

Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls. 

Lance shivers and hastily returns all of the Knight’s belongings to the saddlebag. He feeds and waters Lion, and covers her with the blanket he finds hanging from a nail inside the stall. Then he grabs the lantern and carefully makes his way back up the path to the courtyard. 

The screaming has stopped. The hawk has gone silent as well. It doesn’t make Lance any less reluctant to enter the building, but his own curiosity propels him forward. 

He pushes the door open. “Hello?” He calls out, entering a narrow corridor that opens out onto a modest dining hall with a small wooden table and a couple of roughly hewn benches. 

There’s an open star map on the table, held down with empty tankards at the corners. Lance squints at the handwritten calculations covering it, then startles again when he hears voices coming from upstairs. 

“Hello?” He calls. He enters one of the alcoves on either side of the hearth and discovers a staircase. The voices are louder at the top, but he still can’t make out what they’re saying. 

A door opens and Lance steps back into the shadows as the friar hurries out of the room and quickly enters another one a little further down the corridor. There’s no sign of the hawk. The door he just left is still standing slightly ajar. Flickering amber light emanates from the doorway beyond it. Lance tiptoes across the corridor and slips into the room. 

“Huh… Hunk?” A voice gasps and Lance freezes as his mind struggles to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Laying on a narrow pallet beneath the window is a young man around lance’s age. He’s lean and dark, and there’s a cross-bolt impaling his heaving chest. Pale silver feathers are scattered about the floor all around him. Hawk feathers. Lance swallows, his wide eyes shifting from the floor to the deep violet eyes tensely regarding him.

“Lance,” he says numbly, though his heart is practically bursting out of his chest with panic. Lance recognizes druid magic when he sees it. If he had any sense he’d be half-way down the mountain by now. Yet here he stands like an idiot just asking for an errant lightning bolt to strike him dead for even daring to talk to such a creature.

“Kei… Keith,” the young man gasps, eyeing Lance with open suspicion. Honestly the nerve of this guy. It’s not like _Lance_ is the bird pretending to be a man here. “Is Sh… Shiro… all right?”

Lance’s mind immediately returns to the Knight on his knees in the woods. “He was the last time I saw him,” he says.

Keith seems to relax slightly at that. He closes his eyes and Lance can see him struggling to regulate his breathing. The thin blanket covering his legs is balled up in his tight white-knuckled fists. It must have been pretty traumatic waking up with an arrow in his chest. Lance feels suddenly guilty for the part he played in getting him shot, though he’d been trying to protect Shirogane at the time. 

A sudden thought strikes him and he pats his tunic, finding the note Shirogane… Shiro, stuffed inside his pocket before sending him here.

“He… he wanted me to give you this,” he says.

Keith opens his eyes and stares at the folded parchment in Lance’s hand. “Re… Read it to me,” he gasps.

“Really?” Lance hesitates. “What if it’s you know, personal?” Not for nothing, but Lance recognizes the look he saw on Shiro’s face. It’s the same look he sees on Keith’s now. It’s devotion. They’re devoted to each other.

Keith scowls at him. “Just… read it,” he grumbles.

Lance sighs and unfolds the parchment, squinting a little to make it out in the low-light. He needn’t have worried. There are only three words written on it.

_They’ve found us._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two, in which tragic back stories are revealed and there is so... much... exposition

Keith’s fists tighten around the blanket as the man he called Hunk comes bustling back into the room with a woven basket full of medical supplies. And not the primitive shit available on Aquila either, Empire grade medicines and instruments you can only find on the Unilu black market. 

Lance eyes the cutting-edge bolt remover, the one designed to remove arrowheads in one piece, since they usually break apart and fester when removed by hand. He could literally pay his mother’s rent for a year with the credits that thing would fetch him on the open market. 

“Where’d you come from?” Hunk startles when he looks up to find Lance studying him appraisingly. Apparently there’s more to this humble friar than meets the eye. Hunk frowns. “Never mind,” he says flatly, “now that you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.”

He carelessly dumps the basket on the small table in the corner. Lance’s fingers twitch at the sight of so many invaluable items left unattended. Hunk frowns and presses a wooden bucket into Lance’s hands. “Try putting those sticky fingers of yours to some honest use for a change and fetch me some water,” he says flatly. 

“I resent that,” Lance says tartly, offended by the very suggestion that he’d ever stoop to stealing medical supplies from a destitute monk, even though yeah, that’s exactly what he was thinking of doing. 

“You’re the one who asked for _my_ help remember?” he huffs, snatching the slightly warped bucket from Hunk’s big callused hand. He slips through the partially open door and back out into the murky corridor, muttering to himself. 

He’s not sure how he wound up becoming everyone’s errand boy, but some stubborn part of him is determined to prove he’s more than just the common thief everyone seems to think he is. Besides it’s kinda his fault Keith got shot in the first place. It’d just gnaw at Lance’s conscience if he left without knowing he was gonna be okay.

He finds the courtyard bathed in moonlight and looks up to find a nearly cloudless sky after three straight days of rain. He anxiously eyes the Moirai; the pale moons of Aquila, painting a luminous arc across the black sky. Aniko the largest and brightest of the three is nearly full. 

Nights on Aquila are famously bright and the Galra are known for their sharp eyesight. It’s only a matter of time before the Knight’s pursuers catch up with them. Lance shivers, feeling extremely exposed all of a sudden. The sooner he gets back inside the better. He hangs the lantern in the doorway and heads for the partially caved in well at the edge of the courtyard.

He stumbles across the stone path leading down to the stables and stops. The contents of the saddlebags make so much more sense now, even if not much else does. Lance wonders if he should retrieve them, since hawks have no need for clothes and he’s pretty sure Keith is naked under that blanket. 

Ultimately, he decides that bringing back the water as soon as possible is probably more important. He can always come back for the bags later.

He feels eyes upon him and shivers, tugging at the collar of his still damp tunic. It’s probably just his imagination. He tries to distract himself with thoughts of a warm fire and dry clothes and a bed that doesn’t smell of horse manure for once, but he can’t quite shake the feeling that he’s being watched as he crosses the silent courtyard to the crumbling well. 

He pulls a face and squints at the crumbling bricks lining the well shaft. It’s partially blocked, but there’s still just enough room to draw water from the glittering cistern below. He heaves a grumbling sigh and lowers the bucket into it. 

This place is falling apart and he’ll probably be the one who’ll be expected to fix it. As if shape-shifting hawks and taciturn Knights weren’t enough to deal with. Might as well throw a demanding friar and some unpaid manual labor into the mix.

He retrieves the water and turns back towards the decaying monastery, and practically jumps out of his skin when he spies the huge black wolf watching him from the open gate. “Shit!” he yelps, dropping the bucket, which by some miracle doesn’t tip over. He watches the water sloshing around for a moment then lifts his head to find the wolf has disappeared. 

He swallows and quickly glances around the courtyard, as if the beast might materialize from the shadows and attack him at any moment. He snatches the bucket from the damp ground and scurries back the way he came, practically running over the creature in the flickering lantern light of the building’s doorway. 

Lance yelps and freezes, his heart racing like a rabbit, but the wolf doesn’t move. It just sits there staring at him with its coal gray eyes. Lance shivers. Icy fingers brush his spine as he notices the rust-colored scar marring the creature’s muzzle and the snow-white forelock of fur falling between its eyes. His eyes stray to the creature’s front leg, hairless and glinting with a metallic sheen in the moonlight. He swallows, goosebumps rising on his skin as his racing heart skips a beat.

The wolf lifts its head and Lance slowly follows its gaze to the flickering window where he knows Keith is being administered to by the unlikely Friar Hunk. He swallows and turns to find the wolf has disappeared again, fading into the pale night like a living shadow. Lance takes the opportunity to dart back inside, breathing a sigh of relief when the heavy wooden door slides shut behind him.

He charges through the dining hall and up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. The bucket in his trembling hand sloshes water onto the roughly hewn wood as he goes. “Wolf!” he cries, bursting into Keith’s room. Hunk startles and yelps, springing back from Keith’s bedside with his hands raised in comic defense. “Big… big wolf! In the courtyard!” 

Hunk sighs. “Thanks for the heart-attack,” he mutters testily, slipping the bucket from Lance’s hand without so much as a second glance in his direction. He brings it to the table with the rest of the medical supplies. 

Lance just watches him for a moment, carefully picking through his medical contraband. Getting caught with any of it would mean a one way ticket to the quintessence mines for all of them.

The more he ignores Lance, the harder Lance glares at him. He knows Hunk can feel it, but he refuses to make eye contact. Lance shifts his gaze to Keith who lays shivering on the pallet, also conspicuously avoiding looking at him by staring up at the window.

Okay, Lance may not be the sharpest knife in the cupboard, but he does know people. He knows when they’re trying to hide shit from him. “It’s… Shiro… isn’t it.” It’s not a question. He crosses his arms over his chest and just stands there impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for one of them to come clean and tell him what the hell is going on.

“It’s… complicated,” Keith finally gasps, still staring at the window. “When the wolf roams at night… Shiro... sleeps.”

Hunk goes to him, cradling his felony basket. “Lance, help me sit him up,” he says. Lance grumbles a bit, but finally complies, moving to Keith’s side and grasping his shoulders. He’s tired of cryptic words and furtive looks, but he still lifts Keith from the bed as gently as he can. 

Keith gasps and grits his teeth. His skin is ashen and dripping with cold sweat. Hunk sits down on the bed in front of him, and Keith’s heavy head falls forward to rest on his shoulder.

“Is that what _you_ do during the day?” Lance asks, sitting on the soggy linens behind Keith to prop him up. It comes out more sharply than he meant it to, but he deserves a straight answer for once, then again maybe he’s trying to distract Keith from the pain, or distract himself from witnessing it.

Keith lifts his head. His eyes shift to Lance’s face and he nods once.

Hunk fills a tin-cup with water and mixes it with a small vial of milky white liquid. “Drink this,” he tells Keith, holding the cup to his chapped lips. “ _All_ of it.”

“What is that?” Lance asks curiously.

“Sinesensu,” Hunk says absently, tilting the cup as Keith drains its contents in two big gulps.

“No shit!” Lance says incredulously. He’s heard of it; a powerful anesthetic manufactured by the enslaved Olkari people from a rare plant found on their home planet. Only the most elite members of the Galra Empire even have access to it. “That stuff’s like five-thousand credits an ounce! How the hell did you get your hands on it?”

“Well, it’s not exactly Empire grade,” Hunk says a bit ruefully, “but it should take the edge off.”

Keith shudders and sighs as the medicine starts to take effect and his breathing noticeably eases.

“Better?” Hunk asks. Keith nods, his eyelids drooping with sudden exhaustion. “Good,” Hunk says softly. 

“Do you… dream when you sleep?” Lance asks, watching as Hunk lays out his instruments, including the bolt remover and several field dressings of thick gauze.

“No,” Keith says softly, “no dreams. There’s nothing… only darkness.”

“Sounds more like death to me,” Lance mutters without thinking, and feels immediately guilty about it. Keith says nothing, but he doesn’t disagree.

“Okay,” Hunk says, “I’m gonna do this as quickly as I can. You ready?”

Keith grimaces. “Just do it already,” he grumbles. 

“Lance, hold him steady,” Hunk says and Lance turns slightly and grips Keith’s shoulders, pulling him back a bit to expose his heaving chest. 

The bolt shaft is small and buried deep in Keith’s flesh. The force of a crossbow launch usually means arrowheads strike hard enough to lodge inside bone. It’s difficult to remove them in one piece. They tend to break apart and fester inside the body. Most people who don’t die on impact expire a few weeks later from infection. 

Hunk’s extractor is top of the line though. He winds the handle into the end of the shaft protruding from Keith’s chest then activates the magnetic field around it with the touch of a button. 

Keith cringes as the field expands and the wound around the embedded shaft is forced open. He shudders and almost pitches forward before Lance tightens his grip on his shoulders and forces him back up. 

Hunk grimly grasps the handle. He looks Keith in the eyes. Lance can feel Keith’s body tense beneath his fingers before he nods. Hunk crosses himself and takes a deep breath then he pulls, slowly sliding the bolt free of Keith’s flesh. 

Keith shrieks in pain. Lance grits his teeth and holds him fast while the distressed wolf howls in the courtyard. “Fuck,” Lance whispers, shivering as goosebumps erupt all over his skin. The bolt comes free and Keith sags in Lance’s arms with a sudden rush of blood that Hunk quickly staunches with a bulky field dressing.

Keith writhes beneath his touch. “Didn’t… feel… a… thing,” he gasps wryly before passing out.

“Shit! Did you get it all?” Lance demands, his voice loud and quivering with adrenaline and panic.

“Got it!” Hunk says, studying the bloody bolt in his hand. “It’s all here.” He drops it to the floor with a shaky expulsion of breath. “Let’s get him cleaned up.”

Lance doesn’t really do anything other than lay Keith’s unconscious body out on the pallet. The rest is all Hunk. He cleans and dresses the wound, binding it tight to staunch the bleeding while Lance paces and nervously chews on his thumbnail. 

Keith briefly comes to with a sharp hiss of pain in the midst of Hunk’s ministrations and anxiously grabs his wrist. “If... anything happens to me… I need you to promise… you won’t let them take the wolf,” he gasps tensely.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Hunk soothes, covering Keith’s trembling hand in his. “You’re gonna be fine.”

“Promise me Hunk,” Keith insists. “Don’t let them make him their beast… Promise me… you’ll set him free… Please.”

“I promise, I promise,” Hunk says finally, though he looks extremely uncomfortable about it, “now rest.”

Keith’s hand drops from Hunk’s wrist and his eyes slide shut. Lance thinks he may have passed out again. Hunk presses his lips together and finishes binding him up. Then he sits back and grimly checks the pulse at his throat.

“Will he make it?” Lance asks tensely. It’s weird, but he feels oddly protective of him. Keith did begrudgingly place his trust in him after all. 

Hunk sighs and shrugs. “He’ll heal when the hawk flies again at dawn,” he says. “We need only keep him alive until then.”

“If he dies, then Shiro will stay trapped inside the wolf for the rest of his life, won’t he,” Lance says.

Hunk rubs his eyes. For the first time Lance notices his hands are shaking. “Yes,” he says simply. 

Lance suddenly remembers what Sendak said earlier about the hawk living half a life. He didn’t understand what it meant at the time, but now he does. “And when Keith asked you to free him, he meant… he meant kill him, kill the wolf to release Shiro’s… soul.”

Hunk nods grimly. “I made a similar promise to Shiro some time ago.”

Lance remembers the journal he found, its pages nearly filled with sketches from at least a dozen foreign planets. He eyes Keith, trembling beneath the thin blanket. It’s obvious they’ve been running for a long time. “How long has it been like this?”

“Four years,” Hunk says. 

Four years with no contact. It must be a special kind of hell, knowing the person you love the most is just beyond your reach, like living in out of sync parallel universes. Lance hasn’t seen his own family in nearly two years, but he knows they feel the same sun on their faces, and gaze up at the same moons at night. It makes the distance between them seem smaller somehow. Keith and Shiro don’t even have that. 

“Someone's gone to an awful lot of trouble to keep them apart,” Lance says softly. 

Hunk sighs and gives Lance’s shoulder a warm squeeze. “You have a good heart Lance,” he says. 

Does he? He would’ve sworn he’d forgotten how to be kind. People turn mean when they live in constant desperation. Hunk’s faith in him makes Lance want to be a better person, the person he was before the Galra occupation. “I wanna help,” he finds himself saying, even though he has no idea if that’s even possible. Just saying the words makes him feel a little lighter though. 

Hunk grins. “I was really hoping you were gonna say that,” he says.

***

It’s been a long time since Lance felt the warmth of a fire on his skin, or the comfort of a full belly. Dinner wasn’t exactly a feast, just a bowl of vegetable stew thick with potatoes and turnips and little else, but the broth was rich and flavored with fresh herbs and the bread was dense and crusty. He uses the last scrap of it to soak up the remnants of his bowl while watching Hunk toss more kindling onto the fire from the corner of his eye.

“So what’s your deal anyway?” he asks finally.

“My deal?” Hunk asks, frowning slightly as he coaxes the glowing embers into flames with a rusty iron. “What do you mean?”

“You’re no monk,” Lance says flatly, “not with access to tech like that.”

Hunk returns the iron to its hook and straightens up with a deep sigh. “I used to be an engineer,” he says softly, “before the invasion.”

“Yeah, well, everybody was _something_ before the invasion,” Lance says bitterly. Lance was training to be a cargo pilot, until the Galra captured the planet and bombed it back into the stone-age. 

Hunk moves across the room to check on Keith. They couldn’t leave him alone of course, so Lance built a fire while Hunk brought up food and slightly musty, but clean bedding for the night. 

“How is he?” Lance asks, eyeing Hunk over his shoulder.

“Breathing,” Hunk says. He checks Keith’s bandages by lantern light, then returns to the fire, his expression somber. 

Lance eyes him as he gathers his robes around himself and sits, hunched up on one of the bedrolls. “I guess you could say I’m in… item procurement,” he says cryptically, staring into the fire.

“Right,” Lance says, laying down on the other bedroll with his hands folded beneath his head. He wiggles his bare toes in the radiating warmth of the fire as his soggy boots and stockings hang drying by the grate. “So, you’re a smuggler.”

“People come to me with requests for certain… commodities, which I… acquire for them.” Hunk says.

“So… smuggler.” Although, what the hell kind of smuggler chooses to live in squalor among the peasants when the profits from that bolt extractor alone could buy him his own private planet. “I hate to break it to you, but if your plan was to strike it rich, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“I’m where I need to be,” Hunk says with a shrug. 

Oh nevermind, Lance gets it now. Hunk has taken it upon himself to provide Aquila’s people with the basic necessities they need to survive at no small risk to himself, because he’s one of those big-hearted idiots who wants to save the world.

“So what do you use the rich fucks with expensive drug habits to fund the charity cases?” Lance asks him. 

Hunk studies him thoughtfully for a few moments. “Has anyone ever told you you’re not as dumb as you look,” he says finally. 

“What? No! Just… shut up!” Lance sputters defensively. “Also fuck you!”

Hunk chuckles. “Most of what’s left goes towards…”

“Food?” Lance says sardonically. 

“Hurtful,” Hunk says, scowling at him. “Supplies! For them,” he says, indicating Keith with a slight tilt of his head. “Who do you think’s kept them one step ahead of the Imperial Guard all this time?”

“How'd you even get dragged into this?” Lance asks. It’s risky for someone in Hunk’s line to call attention to himself by harboring fugitives. 

“How’d you?” Hunk asks with a shrug. 

“Wrong place, wrong time.”

“I suppose that depends on your point of view,” Hunk says mildly. 

Lance shakes his head. “So is the plan to just keep deflecting my questions until I get tired of asking them?” He asks. “I’m just curious.”

“Look, this isn’t a fairytale,” Hunk says exasperated. “Or… I dunno maybe it is, but it’s also way more complicated than that.”

“Oh, it’s complicated,” Lance says, rolling his eyes. “Why didn’t you just say so. You _know_ that’s just something people say when they’re afraid the truth will make them look bad right?”

Hunk looks suddenly guilty and Lance wonders if he’s hit the nail on the head. “Look, I pick pockets for a living,” Lance says. “There’s no judgement here, but how am I supposed to help if you won’t tell me what we’re up against?”

Hunk scratches his head. “Honestly, I don’t even know where to start,” he says ruefully. 

“Just… start at the beginning,” Lance says, impatiently threading his fingers through the holes in his moth-eaten blanket. “It's how all the best fairytales start. Here, I’ll do it for you. Once upon a time…”

Hunk presses his lips together in a tight grim line. “Fine,” he says, resigned. “It started with a Knight.” He hugs himself more tightly as he stares into the fire. “A terrible black Knight called Shirogane. He was once Zarkon’s greatest champion, and his most reliable emissary during the war. He’d be sent in ahead of the Empire’s invasion forces to… convince a planet’s population to surrender peacefully.”

“Convince them how?” Lance asks, his mouth going dry. 

Hunk considers the question. “By executing everyone who resisted,” he says, “and by all accounts he was very good at his work, a ruthless and efficient killer. It was said that the only thing colder than Shirogane’s heart was his Galra arm.”

Lance swallows, remembering the way Shiro took out everyone in that field like it was nothing. He was barely even out of breath. Except, he left them all alive, even Sendak. And he saved Lance’s life… twice. It seems contrary to the cold-blooded monster Hunk is describing. 

“So, what changed?” Lance asks softly. Something obviously did.

“What’s the one thing that changes the hearts of men?” Hunk shrugs. “Love. The Knight fell in love.” His gaze shifts from the fire to Lance’s face. “When Zarkon fell ill, his son Prince Lotor was recalled from the borderlands, along with his elite personal Guard, the Blade of Marmora.”

“Wait I’ve heard of them,” Lance says tensely. “Aren’t they assassins?”

“Among other things,” Hunk nods, “and sworn to defend Prince Lotor’s life with their dying breath.”

Lance recalls the glowing Galra blade he found in Shiro’s saddle bags. “So Keith is…”

“Complicated,” Hunk nods. “Also half-Galra. He’s Lotor’s cousin; the bastard son of Zarkon’s sister the Lady Krolia, and a human named Kogane.”

Lance takes a moment to wrap his mind around that. First, that Keith is royalty, however illegitimate, and second, that someone so… slight could possibly have Galra blood running through his veins. Yet the Blade’s reputation for brutality is known even among backwaters like Aquila. If Keith was included in their ranks, he must be formidable indeed, whatever his physical stature. 

“Until they met, all the Knight and the Blade had known was brutality and death,” Hunk continues softly. “But the love they felt for each other gave them the strength to question their violent existence and dream of something better,” he sighs, “though they were as much slaves to the Empire as any of us. They knew their affair would not be tolerated if it became common knowledge among the nobility. At worst, Shiro would be put to death for his impudence, at best they’d be separated from each other for good. The only option left was escape. 

“They didn’t make it, did they,” Lance says, though the answer is even now lying on a threadbare pallet beneath the window with a sucking wound in his chest.

Hunk shakes his head. “They purchased false identity discs and married in secret, but they were betrayed in the end. Prince Lotor caught wind of their plan the night they were due to leave and had them arrested.”

“Why arrested?” Lance asks. “Why not just kill them outright?” He’s not being glib. The royal family are well known for their brutality, even among their own.

“No one can say for sure,” Hunk says with a shrug. “There were rumours that Lotor had designs on Keith’s affections himself and felt betrayed when Keith defied him by daring to lay with another, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to risk misfortune by spilling family blood. Either way,” Hunk says, “Lotor chose to exact a terrible punishment instead, some would say a punishment worse than death.”

“A druid curse,” Lance says flatly.

“Cast by his mother, the witch Honerva,” Hunk nods. “You’ve borne witness to its effects yourself.” Hunk lifts the lantern and glances back at Keith, squinting in the dim light to study the fitful rise and fall of his chest. “Keith got them out,” Hunk says. “He overpowered the Guards and stole a drone ship with the wolf at his side, but ever since that night they’ve lived opposite lives,” he murmurs softly, “the Knight by day and the Blade by night, and in between the animals that house their souls orbit each other like shadow planets, never straying far from each other, but never truly together.” 

“But why would they come here?” Lance asks. Everyone’s heard of Prince Lotor’s impending visit to Aquila. The Imperial Guard have been onsite for weeks making ready the old Stone-circle Keep, where Aquila’s high council used to sit before the invasion. Most people think it’s the start of the next wave of the invasion; that the Empire’s getting set to attack the unconquered star systems closest to the planet. Lance believes it too. Either way, Aquila is definitely not the place to be if you’re a fugitive of the Empire.

“I sent word that they’d be safe here.”

Lance snorts. “Well, you blew that call.”

“Did I?” Hunk says with a sly side-eyed glance. “I suppose it all depends on what you’re trying to accomplish.”

“Wait...” Lance startles. “You… _tricked_ them into coming here when you knew the place would be crawling with Galra military?” he cries, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because,” Hunk says, leaning towards him in the dancing shadows of the fire, “the conditions of the curse are very specific. The hawk flies from sunrise to sunset and the wolf walks from sunset to sunrise. The only way to break it is for both Shiro and Keith to stand together within Lotor’s sight as human beings.”

“Which… is impossible,” Lance says, still clueless as to where Hunk is going with this. He’s starting to doubt whether Hunk even knows where he’s going with this. Maybe the pressure of running a thieves kitchen  
has finally gotten to him.

“It is,” Hunk agrees. “Unless you find a loophole.”

“A loophole… in the curse.” Lance squints at him. “Does this have something to do with that star map I found in the dining hall?”

“Yes! Exactly!” Hunk cries, then cringes glancing at Keith. “My Page Pidge is off making the final calculations even as we speak,” he says, lowering his voice. “If they’re correct, and I know they are, in three days time, Aniko will blot out the sky in a total eclipse of the sun.”

“So what?” 

“Don’t you get it, Lance,” Hunk says, rocking with excitement. “In three days, the sun will effectively disappear from the sky without setting, and for the eleven minutes and roughly forty-three seconds that it’s gone, day and night will merge and become one, rendering the curse null and void.”

“You hope,” Lance mutters.

“All any of us have is hope Lance,” Hunk sighs, “but yes, you’re right, I don’t know for certain that it will work.”

“Plus even if it does, we’ll still only have like ten minutes to break into the Keep and somehow get past all the Guards to even get to Lotor,” Lance murmurs mostly to himself.

“Not if we slip in unnoticed the night before,” Hunk says.

“Not if we do what now?” Lance says.

“In two days there’s to be a reception in honor of Lotor’s arrival. Hundreds of local merchants will be employed for the event. We can easily blend in with them.”

“Selling what exactly?” Lance asks. “It’s not like we’ve got anything Lotor wants, nothing that won’t get us immediately arrested anyway.”

Hunk worries his bottom lip for a moment. “There is one thing,” he says softly. “The wolf has a price on its head.”

“Are you insane?” Lance cries. “You’ll never get them to agree to that!”

“I’m not suggesting that we actually turn him over to the Imperial Guard, or anything,” Hunk hastily explains. “Just that we use him to gain access then disappear once we’re inside.”

“Oh just disappear, just like that,” Lance says mildly, “in a castle crawling with armed Imperial Guards and Blade assassins. That shouldn’t be difficult at all… Are you mental?”

“Listen, I know Stone-Circle Keep. I used to have offices there before the invasion. There are plenty of hidden corridors and secret rooms I’d be willing to bet the Galra know nothing about.”

Lance heaves an exasperated sigh. “Okay,” he says, “say I agree to this hair-brained scheme of yours. What if the eclipse happens and nothing changes?”

“Then we’ll be no worse off than we are now,” Hunk says with a shrug. No worse off right, except for the whole surrounded by a well-armed legion of Galra soldiers with no way to escape thing. Other than that, what could possibly go wrong.

“It will work though,” Hunk says firmly. “It has to.”

It’s infectious in a way, Hunk’s unwavering belief. Even if it is completely irrational. Kind of brave too, in a true way that has less to do with a lack of fear than just refusing to give in to hopelessness no matter how bleak things seem. There’s really no choice but to give in to it. “What do you need me to do?” Lance asks, throwing his hands up in resignation.

“Keith isn’t the problem,” Hunk says flashing him a grateful smile. “It’s Shiro who’ll need convincing.”

“With such a fool-proof plan in place,” Lance says, rolling his eyes, “I can’t imagine why.”

“He doesn’t trust me,” Hunk says flatly. 

Lance pulls a face. “He seemed to trust you well enough when he sent me here with the hawk.”

“That’s different,” Hunk says. “He had no choice. Believe me, I’m the last person he would’ve turned to if there had been any other option available.”

That can’t be right, not after everything Hunk’s done to help them, keeping them supplied and saving Keith’s life. Even tricking them into coming here was ultimately to save them. Just the time Hunk spent on quantum calculations alone seems above and beyond the call of friendship. Then it hits him, like an arrow between the eyes. “Oh holy shit,” he murmurs. “It was you. You’re the one who betrayed them to Lotor.” 

Hunk’s smile turns rueful. “Yeah, it was me,” he says simply. “I was dosed with Veritas, but that’s no excuse. I knew better than to let my guard down, but I did it anyway.” He sighs and rubs his eyes, suddenly looking very tired. “I was the one who secured their new identities and bound them together in marriage. The only person they trusted with their secrets and in one weak moment, I spilled every last one of them.” 

“So, you made a mistake,” Lance says not unkindly.

“Yeah,” Hunk says softly, “and I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since.” He takes a deep breath and blows it out again, his jaw setting in quiet determination. “Now I finally can. I can break the curse. I _know_ I can, but Shiro’s never forgiven me. He’ll resist any plan that comes from me.”

“What about Keith?” Lance asks.

“Keith doesn’t hold grudges,” Hunk says. “He knows they’re slowly dying without each other, but Shiro’s stubborn. I’m gonna need your help to convince him.”

“ _Me?_ ” Lance squeaks. “What makes you think he’ll listen to me?” It’s not like he just met the guy yesterday, or anything.

“Because you know people Lance,” Hunk says. “You know how to talk to them and get them to open up… when you want something from them.”

“Is that a compliment, or an insult, I can’t tell,” Lance says, scowling at him. 

“Think of it as a challenge,” Hunk says wryly. 

His mom always did say Lance could charm the leaves off a willow if he put his mind to it. “Something tells me we’re gonna be facing a lot of those before this is over.”

Stupid. Why would he say something so stupid. Why would he tempt fate like that, because at that exact moment Keith suddenly sits up with a sharp hiss of pain. “They’re in the courtyard,” he gasps. 

Hunk immediately scrambles to his feet as Lance looks around in confusion. “Who?” 

“The Blade of Marmora.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on the [tumblr](https://radiofreekerberos.tumblr.com/)


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